


Silver and Gold

by inkedintoincognito



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Deviance from plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6734908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedintoincognito/pseuds/inkedintoincognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stood opposite of each other, guns in hand, and would have been pointing them at the other with a clear line of sight had Jesse not thrown himself between yet another pair of firearms. Had he been between the atomic bomb and a tornado there would have been less risk of being six feet under by the end of the day.<br/>(What he's trying to say is that Walt and Mike really need to put their guns down.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> sorry. not really sure where this came from. a desire to see a more drawn-out showdown between these two? the need for jesse to have seen walt murder mike?? the fact that i had to stop watching the show just after walt killed mike??? perhaps (most likely) all three.

Mr. White didn’t care about the kid. That much was obvious.

Mike did care for the kid. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there.

Mr. White cared for money. Power.

Mike cared for business. Loyalties.

Mr. White had an ego the size of Texas. Or China.

Mike was humble.

Mr. White was arrogant.

Mike was quiet.

Mr. White was a fire, out of control, angry.

Mike was cool and collected and thin ice that looked thick.

 

Mr. White would kill for his family.

Mike would kill for his family.

Mr. White cared for Jesse.

Mike cared for Jesse.

 

He didn’t want to be here. Jesse was too. Too something, for this shit. Too young? Too uneducated? Too emotional?

Whatever it was, he had seen a kid get killed three days prior and now his boss was pulling a gun on his former-bigger-boss’s-hitman-guy-that-was-also-Jesse’s-something and he still saw Gale’s eyes at night, though not as frequently, but he’d be damned if he was gonna start seeing Mike’s face, or Mr. White’s. He didn’t even know what they were arguing about, only that Mr. White would probably be pissed that he had followed him to the airport car and then to Mike’s car, and Mike would be pissed that he had gone to the airport and seemed to be with Mr. White, and-

And shit was about to hit the fan, and he wasn’t going to let some blood hit the fan too.

Or whatever.

So he was running, his jacket flapping in the wind, zipper smacking into his wrist painfully each time he took a step, and he thought he was fast, but Mr. White was pulling out a gun from his pants, and Mike was sitting in his car, digging around something in the passenger seat, and Jesse wasn’t _that_ fast. He let out a shout, some unknown sound, just something to let Mike know to look, to distract Mr. White-

And then Mr. White pulled the trigger and there was suddenly red on the car door and Jesse let out another shout- “ _No!”_ \- the same thing he was yelling, always yelling just before blood-

But then Mr. White staggered back, something connecting with his face, and the car door shot open and Mike stepped out, his face bleeding, a shotgun in his hands.

“You shot off my other ear, you-“

“Mike! Mr. White!”

“It should have been your head!”

“Mr. White! Stop!”

Neither of the men looked at him, Mr. White taking three quick steps back, leveling his gun again at Mike, his lip raised, that scowl that he wore so often, the one he thought was intimidating, plastered on his face. His mouth was bleeding, his nose looked to be broken again. Mike’s gun resting against his shoulder; Jesse’s mind screaming with the knowledge that Mr. White was three seconds from dying, Mike was not the type of man to give or listen to some speech, and so Jesse picked up the pace. “Mike! Mr. White! Hey! Stop!”

If he was closer, he would have seen Mike rolling his eyes, seen him take his finger off the trigger.

“Face it, Mike,” Walt was saying when he got close enough to hear him speak, “you’re noth-“ He broke off, twitched, the movement he was finally spotting behind him sending that throb to his head that he felt so often now, the thin face of Jesse appearing before the barrel of his gun setting another stress knot into formation. He let out something that was half sigh, half groan.

“Jesse, get out of the way.” Teeth clenched, trying to keep an eye on Mike, but Jesse’s head was blocking him from getting a solid view. “Jesse!”

“Mr. White, c’mon. This isn’t- this is Mike! Mike’s cool, he’s one of the good guys.” Jesse said. His eyes were red. They were always red nowadays. If Walt hadn’t seen him with a gun in hand and those same eyes, he would have assumed that Pinkman was high.

(He might still be, but he doubted it.)

(He was seventy per cent sure.)

“I wouldn’t put it that way, kid.” Walt took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that the kid also tensed up, as though he had thought he had gotten leeway, as though Walt’s silence meant anything.

He didn’t know Walt at all.

Jesse half-turned, glaring at Mike, but continued talking to Walt. “Okay, yeah, like, no offense, maybe not a _great_ guy-“ He jumped again when Walt jerked the gun to the left. “But, hey, listen! Listen! He’s with us, Mr. White! You can’t just- you can’t just-”

“I can’t _what,_ Jesse? Do what you weren’t able to do? Do what you were _supposed_ to do? Once again-“ He threw his arm to the side, Mike’s own gun drawn- _too quickly_ his flight reaction screamed- and aimed and Jesse _still managed to step between them_ \- and Walt was so _goddamned sick_ of shit like this happening, of all these wrenches and loose ends.

“ _ONCE AGAIN_ we are in a situation that could have been prevented had you just done your _fucking job_ all those months ago!”

Jesse took a slight step back, hands flying up. “Chill! It’s- you just gotta listen to me! I told you, Mike’s cool-“

“Kid, get out of the way. Let Walt and I settle this.”

“No, Mike, he doesn’t actually want you dead. You-“

“Of course I want him dead! He should be melting right now!”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jesse-“ Mike sighed, exasperated, his eyes still bored-looking, but Jesse could see the glint in them, the finger that was twitching closer towards the trigger.

Jesse chose to address Walt first, sill, the less rational of the two, the more likely to burst. “That wouldn’t help, Mr. White! He knows a ton of shit and he’s-“

“Pinkman. I’m not going to ask again. Let Walt and I settle this matter.” There was no way he was going to let them go at each other.

“No! You guys are all, like, trigger happy! Like, again, no offense, but can’t we just-“

“Jesse, I really think you should reconsider where your loyalties lie,” Walt hissed.

“Sure you wanna be asking that question, Walter?” Mike asked. Jesse swore, his hands flying up to clutch at either side of his head. He sniffed, his heart beating too fast for his chest. “Yo! Yo, why don’t we, like, talk this out? Huh? Just, just sit around and talk. Mr. White? C’mon, lower the-“

“Shut up, Jesse! Move!” He tried to shove past him, but the kid matched every step, his face in line with every swing of the gun.

“No, _you_ shut up Mr. White! Goddamn it, we just need to _talk!_ ”

Too loud. His voice echoing across the field, through the trees.

Neither responded. Neither lowered his gun.

But neither had their fingers on the trigger anymore.

Finally.

“Listen, guys,” he began, able to half-face Mike completely, both of his teachers on either side of him. He ignored the barrels of the guns on him, the dark circles in the light of the day, and continued on. “We can work this out. We just gotta… _listen_ to each other. Alright?”

“And why should I listen to him?” Walt. Jesse sighed.

“Because you do,” he said. “Whatever you think Mike did, he didn’t do. It.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring, Jesse. Except that it’s what he _didn’t_ do that I have a problem with!” Jesse sighed so loudly he almost missed what Mike was saying.

“I’m not giving you my guys, Walter,” Mike said. Slowly, drawling.

His mind crashed for a second, whiting out, before whirling through everything, collecting thoughts. He didn’t hear what Mr. White was saying, but he knew he cut through some monologue.

“Wait, wait. This is about a list? What list?”

“The nine guys, Jesse. The nine guys that could put us away!” He waved his gun at Mike with the last part, and Jesse stepped forward, back between the guns fully.

“Mr. White-“

“Do you understand-“

“-doesn’t that chick have the list?”

“-the o-“ Walt stopped talking, his mouth puckered in the ‘o’. Jesse grinned.

“Yeah, yeah! Lindsey? Lesley?”

“I-“ Walt paused. Mike pursed his lips, nodded once, twice.

“See? You see? You just gotta _talk_ , man! Mike’s solid, you’re solid-“  
“Mike,” Walt said, and Jesse was so tired of getting interrupted, “is now an enemy, Jesse. The police catch him and we still go away.”

“Mike’s no snitch, haven’t you-“

“MIKE,” he roared, cutting Jesse off, placing his finger back on the trigger, “is a danger. Persuasive. Deadly. Say he wants to protect himself fully? Who knows where he is? We do.”

“And you’re still gonna go after my guys.” Mike said.

“No, Mr. White, we don’t. He’s gonna disappear. We’re not even gonna-“

“He’s still a threat.”

“And Mike, I’ll keep him away from them. I promise. You don’t- wait, Mr. White, see? He’s protecting them even though-“

“He needs to die, Jesse.”

“Even though they snitched! He’s got our backs!”

“I don’t have Walter’s back. Not now, not ever.”

“You son-of-a-“

“But!” Jesse stepped, again, in front of Walt’s swinging gun. “He’s got my back. Right, Mike?” Silence. “Right?” Another beat. And then:

“Yeah.”

“See? And- and you go down, and I go down. And Mike’s not gonna take me down, so he’s not gonna take you down.”

He wasn’t even sure what he was arguing anymore. He wasn’t sure Walt knew what he wanted, other than another body, another tick on his legacy.

Mike, he figured, knew exactly what was going on. And still he was standing there, looking bored, and they were still alive, so he figured there was still a way out of this.

“Jesse, there are a thousand other things-“

“Damn it, Mr. White, can’t you just let this go?”

“It’s a loose end!”  
“We have a million of them! What about Saul, huh? You gonna waste Saul because he might snitch? Because he works for Mike?”

Walt’s teeth clicked. “That’s different. Saul is of use to me. Mike, though….”

“This isn’t going to work, kid. Let us talk-“

“No! Because you’re going to shoot! And there’s gonna be _another_ dead body, and there’s gonna be _another_ barrel, and-“

He was turning. Trying to address Mike.

A mistake. A mistake, a mistake, a mistake, Gale’s eyes and the kid’s wave and Mike’s head snapping back because

all of a sudden, Walt’s hand was on the side of his head, shoving roughly

and that word, again, that useless goddamn word

and Mike’s head, snapping back, the sound of a gun, the splatter of red, so familiar, now, on his face, warm and dripping

and Walt’s smile

and his own lungs, collapsing, his field of vision narrowing down to the man on the ground, to Mike, motionless, limp, famous hitman done away by Heisenberg, the new guy, the guy who was just so _lucky_ all the time

and his heart speeding up, again, and the ringing in his ears, until he could hear nothing, not even Walt’s shout when, second, minutes, hours later he whirled around and jumped on him, knocking him back, the gun flying, Walt’s grip loosened by arrogance.

He screamed, his fist above his head, cocked, ready to fly.

But the man below him was grinning up at the sky, and his eyes were empty of everything but promise and gold.

Something twisted in his chest, hard, unforgiving, but soft, weak, and he couldn’t do anything.

So he let his fist drop and rolled off him and reached over for Mike, fingers clutching the dead man’s jacket, yanking him up, his head lolling back.

And for the second time in a week, over a second body, he broke down, sobbing.

**Author's Note:**

> eh. :/


End file.
